


whatever it takes

by rhysgore



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Coercion, Dehumanization, Dehydration, M/M, Watersports, piss drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 20:20:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: When he was a kid, Rook had been told dehydration could kill him in three days.





	whatever it takes

When he was a kid, Rook had been told dehydration could kill him in three days. Starvation, that could take up to a month, but without water, he’d shuffle off the mortal coil in less than a week.

 

As an adult, he’d learned better. Dehydration took less time to kill you than starvation, but three days was lowballing it. Ten days, give or take, was a little more on the mark.

 

Experiencing it firsthand makes him wish the original three day estimate was accurate. After just a day, the headache makes it difficult to sleep. Two days, and the cramps in his arms and legs makes it difficult to do anything that isn’t just lying in the shade, curled up unmoving on the dirt floor of the cage. By the time day five comes around, his entire body is aching, and it’s beyond difficult to muster the strength to look up at Jacob when he comes for a checkup, peering through the bars of the cage at Rook’s weak, shivering body.

 

“Look at you,” he says, whistling lowly.  _ Asshole. _ “Seen better days, huh? I don’t doubt it. Hard to do much of anything with all your organs on the brink of failure.”

 

He crouches down, bringing himself closer to Rook’s eye level, forearms resting on his knees.

 

“Do you... want something?” Rook asks, coughing slightly. His lips and throat are so dry that the words come out as a barely audible rasp, one that makes Jacob’s eyebrows quirk upwards, amusement obvious on his face. “If not, fuck off.”

 

“Well, I was going to offer you something to drink, but…” Jacob rises from his haunches and starts to turn away, and Rook’s eyes widen.

 

“W-wait!” He says, body twisting as fast as it will go, bringing him to some semblance of a sitting position. His arms and legs feel like nails are being driven through them, and even the small change in altitude makes him nearly black out, head spinning. “Wait.” 

 

Half-facing the opposite direction, Jacob pauses, then turns back.

 

“Oh,  _ now  _ you’re interested.” 

 

Jacob leans against the cage bars, arms over his head, and shadow of a smile on his face is bad news. Like a shark, scenting blood. Rook knows that there’s a catch to whatever Jacob is offering him, but he’s desperate. He thinks he read somewhere that there’s a point in dehydration where there’s no coming back, like how starvation is inevitable when the brain starts to eat the heart. How close he is to that, he doesn’t know.

 

“Please,” he says, simply. Months ago, he might have been too proud. Months ago, he didn’t know what it felt like to slowly die of thirst while being kept in a cage like a dog.

 

Sighing, Jacob scratches pensively at his beard. “I guess you lying here and doing nothing is getting to be a bit boring.” His fingers tap against his face. “So I’ll excuse you being an ungrateful shit this once.”

 

He reaches into one of his pants pockets and pulls out a dog dish, dropping it on the ground right in front of the cage door. It clatters in the dirt, red plastic glinting dully, and Rook eyes it warily before shuffling forwards, as quickly as his body can muster. Jacob waits for him to close the gap between them, making no move to pull out a canteen or bottle before Rook is there, half-kneeling, half-lying in front of him. Even then, when Rook is looking up at him expectantly, he doesn’t go for his pockets again.

 

Instead, he goes to the buttons of his pants, and starts casually undoing them, one after another. Slowly, making a show of pulling his dick out as Rook watches with befuddlement.

 

Does Jacob… want him to…

 

“Relax,” Jacob says, noticing the confused, fearful look on Rook’s face. “I’m not gonna make you suck it. Especially not when you’re as hungry as you are.” He laughs at his own joke, softly.

 

_ Then why is it out in the first place,  _ Rook wants to ask. He opens his mouth, but the question is almost immediately answered when Jacob takes himself in hand, lets out a deep groan, and starts pissing.

 

Credit where it’s due- his aim is impeccable. Almost every drop of it lands in the dog bowl, which is full before long, piss sloshing messily over the sides as Jacob relieves himself. When he’s finished, Jacob shakes a few last drops out, tucks himself back into his pants, and looks at Rook expectantly. After Rook’s confusion doesn’t dissipate, he nudges the bowl forwards into the cage with the toe of his boot.

 

“Well?” He asks. “Aren’t you thirsty? Drink up.”

 

_ Oh. _

 

“That’s fucking disgusting,” Rook rasps, glaring up at him.

 

Jacob’s shoulders move in what might be a shrug. “I told you I had something for you to drink. Never said it was water.” His arms cross, and one boot taps idly against the ground. “If you don’t want it, fine. But you’re not getting anything else.”

 

“You- you wouldn’t let me just  _ die  _ here,” Rook counters.

 

“Really. Are you sure about that?”

 

Jacob’s gaze is impassive, stony, and Rook realizes that even if he  _ is  _ bluffing, the next few days without water, without  _ anything,  _ are going to be a hell on Earth he has no desire to see if he can make it through.

 

Slowly, he moves. He drags himself forwards, reaching for the bowl, and Jacob clucks his tongue.

 

“No hands,” he says. “Those are for  _ people.” _

 

Rook wasn’t sure that being forced to drink his captor’s urine could be any more degrading, but Jacob seems to have humiliation down to a science. Leaning over the bowl on his knees and forearms, Rook slowly lowers his head and takes a cautious sip. It’s thoroughly unpleasant- a sour, salty taste, somewhat similar to that of a particularly awful beer, but the feeling as liquid once again wets his mouth and slides down his throat is a relief unlike anything he’s felt before. 

 

After the first drink, he can’t stop himself from continuing to frantically lap up Jacob’s piss. It splashes over his face, dripping down his chin, but he barely notices, too desperately thirsty to care about the mess he’s making. He drinks and drinks until there’s nothing left, and after that, he licks the bottom and sides of the bowl, making sure he’s gotten every last drop.

 

Once he’s done, Rook sits back on his haunches. His body is in a little less pain, cramps ebbing to levels that are just on the cusp of bearable, head not pounding quite as hard. Glancing at Jacob, Rook expects to see cruel, mocking derision, and is surprised when there’s something like  _ pride  _ in his face instead.

 

“Feels better, huh?” Jacob asks, and Rook nods, hesitantly. He sucks his teeth, wincing at the bitter aftertaste lingering in his mouth. “So many people come through here, and just give up. They’d rather  _ die  _ than sacrifice their dignity. But you… you’re different. Stronger than them.” He crouches down again, smiling as he reaches through the cage bars to take the bowl back. “You don’t have the same arbitrary fucking hangups about what it takes to survive. I like that.”

 

He reaches forwards again, tapping Rook’s forehead with a single finger. It’s a strange, unfamiliar gesture, one that Rook isn’t quite sure how to react to, besides recoiling.

 

“Stay alive. I’ll be back.”

 

That’s the last thing he says before he walks away, heavy boots kicking up dirt as he goes. Rook watches him leave, feeling partially nauseous, partially proud of himself in a way he doesn’t want to examine too closely.

 

Instead, he crawls back further into the cage, curling up in the shade again, and shutting his eyes. Maybe now that his arms and legs don’t feel like they’re on fire, he’ll be able to get some sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: although the effects of doing so are not actually really widely known, US army sanctioned survival guides usually say to not drink urine and jacob is a dick
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/maverickminuano)


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